Interludes
by House Calls
Summary: No longer complete or a oneshot. Some fluffy, hopefully fun HouseCameron drabbles. Rated T just in case.
1. Allison

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _House_ – I just really enjoy the show and the characters. As for this story . . . I was wondering if it would be out of character for, well, the characters. Then I watched some episodes from season one and am thinking maybe not. ;-)

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Allison Cameron leaned against the door frame, arms crossed in front of her chest.. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she watched Greg House at the piano. She wondered if he was aware of how he would sometimes sway slightly when he played. Maybe it was just during Billy Joel songs – he rarely played them. Frankly, she was surprised anytime he played a mellow pop song. It was . . . not a 'House' thing. Letting out a small sigh Allison pushed away from the door frame and made her way over to the piano, her bare feet padding quietly against the hardwood floor.

"Hey," she said as she sat beside House on the piano bench.

"Hey," he replied, casting a sideways glance at her. He segued into another song – a smooth jazzy piece she couldn't place at all. Allison knew it was silly (and she would never admit to it) but she could watch him play for hours. His long fingers moved gracefully over the white and black keys as his eyes slid shut.

Putting her hands behind her, Allison leaned back and let the music wash over her.

"What piece is this?" she asked quietly, reluctant to interrupt him but wanting to know the answer. "It's beautiful."

The music faltered slightly before House attempted another song, fumbled it, then quit playing.

"What? Why did you stop playing?" Allison swung around so she was straddling the bench as House sat there quietly, head bowed with his hands gripping the edge of the piano bench. She placed her right hand on his forearm. "Greg?"

House gave his head a shake, looking at Allison with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "Uh, sorry," he said, gently sliding his arm out of her grip. He began flexing his fingers. "Hand cramps." He turned away from her and stood up, limping a bit more than usual as he made his way over to the couch.

Frowning, Allison debated making a trip to the medicine cabinet before deciding to join House. She sat a little ways away from him, tucking a leg underneath her as House looked anywhere but at her.

"You weren't supposed to hear it yet," he said, his voice low as his gaze settled on a spot on the coffee table. He swore quietly before adding "I'm an idiot."

"I wasn't supposed to . . .?" Realization dawned for Allison as House clenched and unclenched his jaw..

He had been playing _the_ song.

The song whose sheet music she had stumbled across while straightening up some of House's papers before Wilson had come over the week before.

The sheet music with only one word scrawled across the top of one of the pages in House's distinctive cursive script – _Allison._

She had tried to figure out the melody in her mind ever since as the series of notes and notations were burned into her memory. House had caught her a number of times staring into space, her fingers absently moving on whatever flat surface was available. Allison wished she had kept up with her piano playing after high school. She had forgotten so much in the years since then.

Allison had wondered if she would ever hear him play it almost as much as she wondered why he had wrote it in the first place. It was such a romantic gesture – one he would mock her for making if the piano-playing skills were reversed. Perhaps that was why he had kept it hidden from her. She hazarded a look at House. He was still staring at the coffee table and massaging his thigh.

Reaching out her hand, Allison placed it over his right one, stilling its steady back-and-forth movement. He looked up at her, his blue eyes reflecting a hint of uncertainty as he tried to school his expression into something more neutral.

"So . . ." she began, not sure what to say to break the uncomfortable silence trying to nudge its way between them. "So I was thinking --"

"You're in the mood for hot, sweaty sex?"

Allison bit back a grin. "No," she said slowly, pleased to see the smirk pulling at House's mouth. "I was thinking you need to get your butt back on the piano bench and finish the song." She stood up, not letting go of House's hand. "Pod people have obviously taken over your body – I want to enjoy every minute of this before they bring back the real Gregory House."

"Maybe they've taken over _your_ body," House quipped as he pushed himself up off the couch, almost pulling Allison off-balance. "You're sounding more like Cuddy every day." His gaze dropped briefly. "Any other changes I need to be aware of? Hey," he said when Allison smacked him on the arm, "don't hit me. I bruise easily."

"Quit being a baby," Allison admonished as she sat beside him. Watching House from the corner of her eye, he looked ready to say something but apparently decided it against it as he began playing the song . . . her song. "So, I was thinking . . ." Allison said with a smirk.

"Shut up if you want to hear the rest of the song. Clock's ticking on the pod's return."

Allison chuckled, resuming her earlier position on the piano bench. Yup, she could watch him play for hours.


	2. When I Fall in Love

**Interlude #2**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything related to _House_. This is fun, non-profit entertainment . . . unless a scriptwriter position opens up. ;-)  
**Author's Note:** This takes place post -_No Reason_.

_mdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmd_

Nervousness was not a feeling he allowed himself to be acquainted with on a regular basis. About once a year was his ideal target . . . he wouldn't think about the actual numbers. With a slight frown, Greg House ran through a few more scales on the piano as he willed himself to not look at the handset from the cordless phone resting beside his full glass of scotch. She would call – had said she would the day before. And she had made him promise to be home _and_ answer the phone. She knew things, she had said with a laugh, and would share them if her demands were not met.

_Mothers could be a real pain in the -- _

The ringing of the phone stopped his thoughts and the C scale. House almost let the machine pick it up before remembering an incident involving peanut butter, a neighbour's cat and the threat of his father being informed to his latest 'adventure'. He picked up the phone.

"Are you ready?" was the slightly muffled question on the other end. House rolled his eyes, bit back a barbed retort (again, she _knew_ things), and quickly scanned his living room. Allison was either still at the gym or running the errands she had mentioned earlier, the deadbolt was firmly in place and Wilson was at a conference in New York. He should be safe.

"Yeah," House replied. Clicking on the speaker phone function, he carefully set the handset on top of the piano just behind the sheet music for the Nat King Cole song his parents had danced to on their first date. "Happy anniversary," he said quietly as he began to play.

_mdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmd_

It was a twisted law of the universe, Allison Cameron decided with a groan, which dictated torrential downpours to begin when she had no jacket or umbrella, six bags of groceries, and her gym bag while fumbling for her keys to the townhouse. _Of all the idiotic times for House to lock the deadbolt_ . . . the thought drifted off as she remembered why he had a new oneinstalled in the first place. Swallowing her impatience, she set down a few of her bags in order to go through her purse. Once the house keys were procured she slid the lock open and quickly got everything – her self included – in the front entryway.

It was then she noticed the soft swell of a melody coming from the piano. Divesting herself of her soggy shoes and socks, Allison left the bags by the door before stepping into the living room. House's back was toward her (how many times could a person rearrange their furniture?) as his hands moved deftly across the keys. A glass of scotch was to his left, beads of condensation trickling down it. What appeared to be the handset from the cordless phone was behind the sheet music in front of him; Allison was about to question House about it when a shiver made its way down her back. She made her way to the bedroom, arching an eyebrow in surprise when House did not acknowledge her presence.

Making quick work of changing into dry clothes, Allison had grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom when she figured out it was a Nat King Cole song House was playing. It was an old favourite of hers (though she would not admit this to House – not yet, at least). She quietly began to hum along, the last few lines scrolling past her mind's eye as she made her way into the living room and sat down in the black leather recliner.

_And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too,_

_Is when I fall in love with you._

As the last notes faded from the piano's strings, Allison closed her eyes and tucked her legs underneath her. Within seconds, she was asleep.

_mdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmd_

House had smiled at his mother's quietly offered thank you and grimaced at his father's good-byecoloured with silent judgments before he had hung up the phone. Turning around on the piano bench, he started slightly at the sight of a conked-out Cameron in the recliner, clad in a pair of sweats and her old university sweatshirt with a small towel slung over one shoulder. She looked wet, chilled, and . . . she had left a mess of bags by the front door.

Pushing himself up from his seat, he was about to put the phone on the table beside the recliner when a an idea came to him. He positioned himself behind the chair and held the phone about six inches from Cameron's right ear as he pushed the 'page' button. A loud, strident beeping broke the silence. Almost instantly Cameron jolted into alertness, arms and legs flailing. House got the phone out of the way before she smacked it out of his hand.

"What in the h--"

"You left a bunch of stuff by the door," House interjected while setting the telephone in its proper spot. "Are you trying to kill me with spoiling food or what?" he groused as he limped over to the doorway and picked up a couple of the plastic bags.

"Some would consider it a mercy killing," Cameron mumbled, stretching out her legs before vacating her seat and going over to get the rest of the groceries. She kicked her gym bag into the corner behind the door.

"Ah, yes," House quipped, plopping his bags on the kitchen counter, "this is where I would ask 'But why?' and you would reply 'Because then I wouldn't have to put up with you anymore.'" His ridiculously bad imitation of Cameron earned him a smile. They put away the groceries in silence. When they were done House returned to the piano as Cameron plugged in the electric kettle.

_mdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmdmd_

She had blurted out so many things in the heat of the moment.

_"Do you like me?"_

_"I have to protect myself."_

_"I thought you were too screwed up to love anyone."_

She was an idiot, Allison decided with a rueful sigh as she dropped a tea bag into her cup before filling it with hot water. Though . . . if she hadn't blurted out a few other things since then she probably would not be where she was right now. What if he had . . .?

Allison scooped out the tea bag with a spoon and tossed it in the trash, wishing she could do the same thing with some of her memories. She padded into the living room, the cup of tea cradled in her hands as she carefully blew on the steaming liquid. Bumping House slightly with her hip, she sat down when he had made room for her. He was playing the song she had heard when she had first come in.

"Who were you playing that for earlier?" she asked before taking a sip of her tea.

"My parents," House answered as his hands continued their journey over the white and black keys. "Anniversary."

"That was . . ." Allison paused, wondering if "Greg House" and "nice" could really be considered an oxymoron.

"The result of blackmail," House finished for her.

Allison only laughed before taking another drink from her cup as the sound of rain hitting the windows lent a soft accompaniment to the piano.


End file.
